Desperately Wanting
by la.colombe.de.paix
Summary: We are such stuff as dreams are made on. But when old dreams bleed into new reality, Hermione must sort through the demands of her heart and the rationality of her mind. Are the passionate nights once shared between two teenagers enough to make her abandon the man who loves her? Or will she and Harry begin again on their discovery of finding the difference between love and lust?
1. Doubt

a/n: The Harry Potter universe is the property of Warner Bros. and JK Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. T rating for mild language and adult situations. This is a post-Hogwarts world, with flash backs that are indicated by the dates. The months and years are based on conjecture from canon. This is my first attempt into the murky waters of H/H, although I've been a long time believer in their relationship. I do hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong>November, 1997<strong>

Her hands were trembling as she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt; she was trembling so badly she could not manage to move the clear plastic button through the buttonhole.

"Do you need me to do it?" he asked kindly, amusement in his voice. She was being ridiculous, she knew that. There was no reason for her to be so nervous. He was her best friend, her most faithful companion, she trusted him with her life. She shouldn't be so worried about something so elementary as seeing his naked body.

"I don't know why I'm so nervous," she said with a small laugh, not looking him in the eye, trying to make light of the fact she could not perform such a rudimentary task of undoing buttons, stretching out her fingers in the hope they would cease their trembling. He took hold of one of her hands, such a strong and forceful grip, moving her hand to his chest. She could feel his heart beating, pumping rapidly, racing quickly like her own heart was doing.

"You're making me just as nervous," he said softly lifting up her chin with his free hand so that she could look into his eyes. He leaned in to kiss her lips, tenderly, softly, almost hesitantly to make sure that this was truly what she wanted. She did not know how they had gotten to such a place, how their relationship had developed into more than just friendship. Perhaps it was being thrown together in such dire circumstances, living in a tent in the stark landscape of the rural countryside, searching for unknown clues to finding and destroying parts of a man's tormented and fractured soul. Perhaps she had always felt this way, and it was only now that they were alone to explore their feelings more fully did she finally see that this was where she was meant to be, with him, here in his arms, kissing him with abandonment.

Their kiss became more intense, her body responding to his touch, her hands moving rapidly towards removing articles of clothing. Never had she felt her heart beat this quickly, hear the blood pumping hard through her veins, her breath releasing in shudders, her mind free from thought or repercussion. Her mind, her body, her very soul, were only able to think, to concentrate, to feel the sensation of his lips exploring her mouth, her neck, her collarbone. No longer were her fingers trembling as she undid the buttons of his shirt, no longer was she hesitant in giving into the most carnal demands of her body, no longer did she doubt her love for this man in front of her.

"Hermione…" he said breathlessly.

**May, 2003**

Hermione Granger woke with a start, breathing heavily as though she had been sprinting in her sleep. She had had "the dream" again. She quickly climbed out of bed, rushing into the bathroom to turn on the tap, splashing cold water on her face. _It was a dream, a memory, nothing more_, she thought, her hands bracing herself against the porcelain sink looking at herself in the mirror, water dripping down her face. _It was only a memory, you're nervous for today that's all._

Her reflection startled her. She was ghostly pale; her brown eyes were wide with shock, her pupils still dilated with sleep and perhaps with something more. Her hair was damp with cool sweat, her unruly curls in every direction. She looked mad, insane, a deranged woman dreaming of a passionate night that had happened nearly six years ago. She had grown since then, her love for him had changed since then, _he_ had changed since then. No longer were they the naïve teenagers whose hormones and emotions were out of their control, whom fate had brought together, alone, vulnerable, in need of a connection they both so desperately wanted.

She dried her face off with a towel, but without the cool water on her face, she found she was becoming more and more distressed. She shouldn't be thinking about him, not today of all days, and what they had done so long ago. Those feelings had been buried when Ron returned back to them and they could no longer share one another in the way they had become so accustomed to.

_He is my best friend, and that was all, _she reminded herself. _We were kids; we had no idea what we were doing._ She walked back into her bedroom, crowded with packing boxes and bags filled with her belongings. It had taken her quite some time to pack up her flat, taken her longer than she had expected to gather everything she had accumulated since the War was over.

The War. That blasted bloody war that destroyed so many innocent lives, destroyed so many hopes and dreams, destroyed her innocence and childhood. She was no longer a girl by the time she, Harry, and Ron had set out searching for Horcruxes, she was no longer free to be a teenager to gossip with friends, to fantasize about boys, to complain about her hair or lack of wardrobe. In reality, she was never one for such supercilious stereotypical girly things, never one to gossip or flirt or complain about the nonsensical. But she would have liked to. Would have liked for a change to worry about nothing more than if her shoes were suppose to match her handbag, or the color of her eye shadow. She was too mature, older than she was meant to be, had been made to age unnaturally. Mostly for the sake of the two boys she accompanied through six years of an extraordinary education, a magical learning not planned in a syllabus where she faced challenges, creatures and the supernatural, things not even a fully-grown witch may encounter in a lifetime. She knew she had to be the strong one, the level headed, the logical one who would be able to carry them through whatever dark and abnormal magic they would encounter. All the while she was reeling with her feelings, conflicted over what she thought she knew, what she felt, and the realities of her heart.

Maneuvering through brown packing boxes in her small London flat, she went into the kitchen to make some coffee. Looking over to the clock on the wall she saw they would be here at any moment. _Pull yourself together_, she thought, leveling off the appropriate amount of coffee grounds and water, switching on the machine. She had opted for living in a Muggle flat, with television and electricity and everything she remembered from home. She had wanted to escape magic for a while, to forget there was ever a magical war, to try and go back to a time before she knew about the Wizarding World or Voldemort or Harry Potter. She wanted to surround herself with the comforts of the ordinary, the mundane, the simple. Ron thought she was mad, thought every time he came over he was stepping into one of his father's fantasies with all the cords and wires and Muggle appliances he could dream of. But she would be leaving behind the comforts of home; she would no longer have the comforts of her friendly simple neighbors, her kind mailman delivering her post on foot, even her toaster. She would move into the home they had found together, near the Wizarding village of Ottery St. Catchpole, close to the Burrow, close to her new family.

Pouring herself a steaming cup of coffee, she gratefully sipped the black liquid needing the caffeine to wake her from her thoughts of passionate nights between two scared teenagers. She smiled in her cup, thinking over such naughty musings. But a knock on her front door woke her from anything of that nature.

"Hermione?" a woman's voice called out.

"In the kitchen, Ginny!" she called back. Wading through the sea of boxes, walked in her mother, Molly Weasley and Ginny.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Weasley said happily coming over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Merlin's beard, Hermione, how did you ever get all this into this tiny little flat?" Ginny said, coming over to hug her as well.

"Undetectable extension charm," Hermione smiled. "Hello, mum."

"Hello, sweetheart," she said, giving her a warm hug, wearing a rather dazed expression. After the War, Hermione went to Australia to look for her parents. It had taken her the better part of three months to do so; almost giving up hope she would ever find them again to be back in time for the start of the new school term. But found them she did, settled into a nice enough town, with new friends and relations. However, the extent of her Memory Modification Charm had been great in the case they had been discovered and tortured for information. Reversing it had done some harm. They were able to remember their daughter, remember the parts of the life they had together, but they became prone to wandering, to have a slight dazed and confused look about them. Her father's damage had been worse than her mother's, and he was unable to return to his dentistry practice. Everyday they became a little better, and all the Healers at St. Mungo's believed in their recovery, but it was slow with some days worse than others. Hermione wondered at times if she had done them a disservice, returning them to their lives in England, able to remember her, but not completely the same. They had seemed happy in Australia, settled in their new lives. She sometimes wondered if she had been selfish to remove them from their new lives. But it was for days like these when she really needed her mother did Hermione reassure herself it had been the right thing to do.

"So are you ready? Not nervous are you?" Mrs. Weasley said, looking excited. She had not changed much since the first time Hermione had met her. She had perhaps a bit more grey hair, perhaps a few more wrinkles, and a deep, everlasting sadness from the death of her son, but she was still the same tender, nurturing, and at times overbearing woman she grew to love as much as her own mother. What Hermione loved most about Mrs. Weasley was that she took pleasure in being mother, in a way Hermione always admired. And now in being a grandmother, Hermione could not find a woman more suited to the vocation. When Bill and Fleur would bring Victoire, and now their newest addition, Dominique, over to the Burrow she delighted in seeing her granddaughters. Even five-year-old Teddy Lupin always had the most marvelous time when he was with Molly Weasley, whom he still would mistakenly would call Nana.

"No, not nervous," Hermione said, watching Ginny help herself to a cup of coffee.

"The two of you have been dating for so long, I feel this is going to be more a marriage of convenience now that the two of you will be living under one roof." Said Ginny, taking a sip of her coffee.

Hermione smiled at her future sister-in-law.

"It's only proper that they should be living separately until they are married." Mrs. Weasley said, giving her daughter an appraising look. "I was always against you and Harry living together before you'd married him."

"Mum," Ginny said rolling her eyes making Hermione grin. "You're so old fashioned. Most couples live together before their marry. Tonks and Lupin did."

"Yes, but they married so quickly after moving in with one another, there hardly could have been much impropriety between them. Besides, they were much older and wiser than you were."

"How is Teddy?" Hermione asked with the mention of her old professor and his wife. Their deaths were one of the reasons Hermione needed an escape from her old life, needed time away to grieve. When Harry was named the boy's godfather, and when the War was over and they were safe once more, he took up the role at once, making sure the boy was never in want of love or affection or toys and Hermione and Ron took the time to see the boy as much as they could.

"Spoiled rotten," Mrs. Weasley said grinning. She too was so taken with the beautiful boy, who so resembled his mother and the Black Family, yet was very distinctly his father's son with his thoughtful manner and proving himself a most accomplished wizard even at age five. However, he did have that Marauder streak of playfulness, a gleam in his eye Hermione had on occasion seen in Remus' eye, one that seemed to torment poor Andromeda Tonks, but brought delight to Harry who declared Hogwarts had better watch out for such a terror. Hermione knew Mrs. Weasley had looked on Tonks as a surrogate daughter. Hermione remembered her friend often, with her bright pink hair and her eccentric choice of clothing and taste in music, remembered Tonks confiding in her and Ginny saying how grateful she was she had Molly Wesaley in her life, as she and Lupin would have never survived their time apart without her tea and sympathy. After her death, Mrs. Weasley saw Teddy as her own grandson, look after him the days his grandmother Andromeda was working at hospital or Harry and Ginny were working at the Ministry or Quidditch. She delighted in watching all her grandchildren, loved watching them interact with each other, loved seeing how Teddy fit in with them all, not seeming to care he wasn't directly related to them. Though, Hermione remembered, they were all distantly related through his portion of the Black Family pureblood.

"Harry is practically about to adopt the boy, he's at our house more often than not." Ginny said, smiling affectionately at the thought of the five year old. "I'm surprised he hasn't taken to calling him 'son'."

"Harry is going to make a wonderful father someday," Mrs. Weasley said looking to her daughter as though waiting for the announcement of a grandchild. Ginny just rolled her eyes again, sipping her coffee. Ever since Ginny and Harry had been married a year ago, Mrs. Weasley had been pestering them about children at any chance the conversation would allow her. And now with Hermione to wed her youngest son, she would soon enough direct her attention towards the prospect of grandchildren from another source.

"Teddy is enough for us to be getting on with at the moment mum," Ginny said. "Besides, I have years left in my Quidditch career. I'm not about to give up my position with the Harpies just to satisfy your need for more grandchildren. I think you have enough to be getting on with now George and Angelina are married, and Fleur seems to be popping them out every two years."

"Hmm, we'll see about that," said Mrs. Weasley, a knowing gleam in her eyes.

"Time is ticking away!" Helene Granger said happily, pointing to her watch. Hermione always felt a bit of pity when her mother was invited to Wizarding events. As much as Molly Weasley was fond of Mrs. Granger and would include her in conversations, or take her under her wing, there was always a barrier between them, like they were speaking in an unknown language Helene would never be able to understand. Terms like Quidditch, or people like Teddy were still unknowns to her, no matter how many times Hermione explained them. It seemed her brain had been through enough damage that she simply refused to accept any new information.

"Your mother is quite right!" Mrs. Weasley said. "We should be getting to the hall soon. Hopefully Harry and Ron are up and on their way as well."

"We can only hope," Ginny muttered. "Harry had a bit of a rough day at the office. It's still so shambolic over there and he didn't get home until one in the morning."

Hermione could understand late nights at the Ministry. Since the fall of Voldemort, Kingsley had been working hard to make the Ministry of Magic an institution that was a pillar of strength, leadership and morality. He wanted to clean away all the shady dealings and characters, wanted to make sweeping reforms so that equality of inherent rights were given to all, not just the few. Hermione with her work for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had spent many sleepless nights pushing for further reform, editing and reediting legislation in the hope of disbanding abusive practices towards non-humans and half-breeds. Her ultimate goals were set on tackling werewolf reform, mostly for Remus, but also for Teddy that he should never feel the sting of rejection for what his father was, but even she had to admit it was a long way off, especially with so many fighting her proposed reforms for house-elves and their working conditions.

"Well, we should head over soon," Hermione said, looking again to the clock on the wall.

"Come on, I'll help you pack up," Ginny said, taking Hermione under the arm and leading her back into her bedroom. There wasn't much to do; Hermione in her typical fashion of being prepared, had already packed her bag for the honeymoon, a separate bag of what she would need for the ceremony, her dress hanging neatly in a garment bag in the closet.

"Really Gin, there is nothing much to pack-"

Ginny shut the door firmly behind them before saying briskly, "Alright, spill."

"What?" Hermione said laughing a little. Ginny was standing by the closed door, arms folded over her chest, looking at Hermione as though she were hiding something important from her.

"You're much too calm, much too collected, even for you." Ginny said, scanning her friend as though to find she had been replaced in the night by emotionless android.

"Because I am," Hermione said, starting to pull the sheets off her bed, folding them into neat piles. "It's like you said, we've been dating for ages, and it doesn't feel like a huge step getting married."

"Hermione, Harry and I had been dating for nearly as long as you and Ron have. Yet I distinctly remember you having to hold back my hair on my wedding day so I could vomit, I was so nervous." Ginny said, walking over to the bed so Hermione could no longer pull away her sheets. "What's the matter? You can tell me, Hermione. I know he's my brother, but you're still my best friend. I won't be offended if that's what you think."

Hermione looked at her. Pretty little Ginny had grown so much since they had both graduated Hogwarts nearly four years ago. More than gaining maturity, she had come into her own, found her voice and her passion for Quidditch. She had been her best girl friend, had always been the one she could confide in on matters that were beyond the scope of two teenage boys. There were even things she couldn't talk to Harry about, and those matters went straight to Ginny. But how was she to tell her best friend, her maid of honor, that last night she had a dream about a time that seemed hundreds of years ago, a time when she had finally tapped into her sexual desire, a time when she and Harry Potter had been everything to each other.

**April, 2002**

Hermione knocked on the door. Her hands were trembling. Why did she always feel so nervous at times being alone with him? It was like she was a silly school girl again, not a grown woman of twenty-three.

"Hermione?" he called back to her, "is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me," Hermione called through the door steadying her voice. "I got your note."

The door opened. Hermione almost took a step back seeing him there, the rush from the quickly opened door taking his appearance quite by surprise.

"Oh thank Merlin you're here," he said, pulling her into the bedroom. "I can't seem to tie this and all the spells I know aren't working." Harry Potter was nervous. Really and truly nervous, worried about not being able to tie his silken cream bow tie correctly for his dress robes. Hermione wanted to laugh. She tapped the fabric at his neck once with her wand, making it twist and fold until it was perfectly sitting at the base of his throat.

"Thanks," he said, examining his appearance in the mirror.

"Harry Potter, nervous?" Hermione giggled. "The Chosen One, Defeater of the Dark Lord, Savior to Wizarding Kind, nervous?"

"Sod off, Hermione," Harry said playfully looking back at his best friend. But the way he examine her in her new dress, the way his eyes lingered over her body made any humor between disappear in a hazy cloud of confused longing and sexual tension. Feeling the lingering gaze of his eyes, Hermione's heart started fluttering rapidly, and she turned away blushing.

"W-was there anything else you need, shoe laces tied or any other simple spells you'd like me to perform?" she asked, hoping to continue with the pretense of humor, but the slight tremble in her voice gave her away.

"There was something yes," Harry said quietly, and the seriousness in his tone made Hermione turn around. "I know we agreed to tell them eventually, agreed that it would be better that it was out in the open, but I'm getting married Mione, and I don't-"

"It's alright, I understand. I mean, it was almost five years ago. There's no need to bring up the past where it's not needed." Hermione said, noticing the troubled nature of his startling green eyes, those eyes who only moments ago made Hermione forget Ron, forget Ginny, forget that fact that any moment now the Master of Ceremonies was going to call for them to take their places so the ceremony could begin.

"Do you ever think about that time?" Harry asked her, the unspoken question that always seemed between them finally out in the open.

"Harry-" Hermione said wearily.

"No really Hermione," Harry said earnestly, walking closer to her and Hermione was starting to feel the familiar sensation of the nervous butterflies in her stomach and the deep aching, longing, for him to come closer, close enough to touch her. "Do you ever think back to those nights when Ron had left and we were so blind in our search for Horcruxes, all alone in wild wildernesses, lost and confused. You know it really is amazing we're even alive right now thinking back to it all."

"Harry, it's pointless thinking back to it." She said sternly. It was a conversation she had in her head over and over when the War was over the Recovery began. "We both agreed that we were reckless, foolish to think that we would have lasted more than those months we had together."

"I know," Harry said, looking suddenly very stern and angry, "I shouldn't even be saying these things. I'm getting married today."

"You are," Hermione agreed helpfully, "to a woman who loves you very much Harry. You two belong with one another. Not with me." She concluded sadly. During her time in the search for her parents, on nights when she was alone in unfamiliar towns and with even more unfamiliar people she would think back to that time. How alive she had felt, had glorious it had been to be the center of his focused attention, to be the only thing those piercing green eyes saw. She thought about Ron, thought about how angry and depressed she had been without him those first few days after he left, remembered feeling even angrier still at his return with nothing but a friendly greeting. But also thought about the swell of emotions she felt for him after, thought about the guilt in sleeping with Harry, as though she had betrayed him.

"It could have been you, Mione," Harry said, brushing a curl away from her face. "It could have very easily been you..."

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><p>an: So with passions being denied, Hermione must decide whether she should follow her heart, or take the pre-determined road laid before her.

Ever since I began reading the Harry Potter series, I have always wanted Harry and Hermione to get together, but obviously, that never came to pass. Even watching the films I kept thinking, okay, now it's going to happen. So, I thought it would be interesting to find out what would happen that within the world of canon if they would find one another the way I would always wish for them to be. If you'd like to read more, please click the review button below!


	2. Longing

a/n: the harry potter universe are the property of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers and no copyright infringement is intended. T rating for language and adult situations. Again, this is a post-Hogwarts world, but there are flash backs indicated by the dates. as always, i hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong>May, 2003<strong>

"It's complicated, Gin," Hermione sighed, not quite looking Ginny in the eye. Why did she need to start questioning everything _now_? Why not way back at her bridal shower, or when she started packing up her flat, or even yesterday would have been a more convenient time to begin to waver in her feelings for Ron and for their marriage.

"Well explain it to me," Ginny said, looking concerned, patting the spot next to her on the bed. Hermione sat down, thinking of the best way she could to try and describe the complexity of her emotions.

"I'm not sure if this is really what I want," she said finally, picking at a loose thread in the seam of her top sheet.

"Getting married, or just Ron?"

"No, I love Ron," she said but the conviction in her voice was lacking and Ginny knew it.

"Hermione," she said reproachfully.

"I don't know," Hermione said, getting up so she could pace around the room. "I love your brother, I really do, and I know how much he loves me. But, I'm just not totally certain if marrying him is what I really want. We're completely different people than when we were at Hogwarts, yet some things are still completely the same. We both drive each other mental, he can still be so tactless and insensitive, and I'm worried that after two weeks of living together, being in the same place twenty four hours of everyday, we won't just kill each other by the end of it!"

"What you're feeling is natural, Hermione," Ginny said kindly. "Believe me, I had the same reservations when I married Harry. I'm sure you know this about him, you're his best friend and all, but Harry can be rather guarded and secretive with his feelings. More than once we've had rows about him not communicating the way he should, or at least in a way I don't have to constantly guess as to what he's thinking. He be so moody at time, brooding over something that has always seemed to bother him, but he won't tell me what it is exactly."

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, and she selfishly began to wonder if it was her he was constantly brooding over. But Ginny dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

"I couldn't even begin to tell you. He told me once that when the time was right he would tell me, but after we were married, he said it didn't matter anymore. Anyway, my point is, is that it all comes down to love. Even with the rows and the late nights and me on the road with the team and not seeing each other for weeks at a time, at the end of the day it comes down to love and if love is going to see you through."

Hermione thought over her friend's words. Did she love Ron? Yes, of course she did, after all this time together how could she not. But did she love him _enough_, was it deep and passionate enough that it would get them through the rough bits and the late nights and the hour long shouting matches? To that, she didn't know. Hermione was frustrated. She wasn't having such doubts yesterday, wasn't having such a battle going on between her heart and her mind. _Curse you Harry Potter_, she thought bitterly. _Everything would have been fine without you, if I hadn't had that bloody dream last night._ Maybe Ginny was right; maybe this was natural, what she was feeling were the doubts every bride had before magically binding herself to one man forever.

"I think maybe it is just nerves, Gin," Hermione finally concluded, giving her friend a watery smile.

"Hermione, now is the time to speak up. If you're having serious enough doubts, then we should call off the wedding."

"No! I could never do that, not after all the hard work your mum has put in, not after all the expense-"

"Bugger the expense, Hermione, we're talking about the rest of your life! If you don't think my brother is the 'one', if you don't think that he will make you happy everyday for the rest of your life together, then call the whole thing off."

Hermione looked at Ginny for a moment, her eyes moving down to the beautiful diamond ring on her finger. Harry clearly had moved on, had fallen in love and married someone else. He didn't have doubts, and every time she saw the two of them together, they looked perfectly happy, looked so clearly in love. No, Harry was not the one for her, and she was not the one for him. She was supposed to marry Ron. She loved Ron. Didn't she?

"No, Ron is the man for me," Hermione said forcefully. "Of course he is, it's fate. He's loved me since we were kids. Of course he's the one for me." She smiled to reassure Ginny's still skeptical look. "Perhaps it's the thought of leaving my Muggle flat in London and moving out into the suburbs that has me in such a state."

Ginny laughed a little. "Maybe..." But she still looked skeptical.

"Really, Ginny, if I was getting cold feet I would say something. Its just nerves."

"Alright then, if you're sure, we should get going. Hermione, your poor hair, it's going to take ages!"

So they packed up her belongings Hermione would need for the wedding, and her traveling bag for the two-week holiday she and Ron planned for the South of France. The hall that was rented for the event was over looking beautiful English gardens, the flowers in full bloom leaving a wonderful floral scent to the entire area. The reception would take place outside, if the weather allowed it as the dark ominous cloud in the sky threatened rain. In case Mother Nature would intervene on such a joyous day, the grand house that was located near the gardens had been let and would only mean having to magically move everything inside. Hermione had wanted a small affair, just immediate family and good friends. She had always envisaged a something elegant yet casual, nothing to the grand affair her wedding had become. Perhaps it had been Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic, accepting his invitation that had made the day become more elaborate than had been anticipated. When the arrangements for flowers and music and candles and ministers had been planned, Ron had simply just nodded his head, kissed her check and said "Whatever you think is best." So with increasing demands from the Ministry, and a fiancé who lacked any enthusiasm on the matter, she delegated some of the responsibilities to her future mother-in-law, who had planned many of her other children's weddings. The ceremony and reception were to be a much larger event with so many friends and extended family to be in attendance, that the quiet intimate gathering that she would have really preferred for her wedding was not even in the realm of possibility. Ron's side of the family alone would take up much of the hall.

All the ladies gathered into a large side room away from the main hall, Hermione being ushered in quickly by her mother and Mrs. Weasley before she had time to examine the work that had been done to the large historical space. Hermione seemed to be in a world of frenzy; unable to stop or appreciate the beautiful madness that was going on around her. Fleur arrived a little while later, pushing a pram with a sleeping Dominique, and toddling in behind her mother was Victoire, who was to be their flower girl. Even at three, the little girl was gorgeous, with her mother's silvery blonde hair and big blue eyes, looking so angelic with a wreath of flowers in her hair, her satin white dress pristine, the tulle at the bottom flowing out like a one of Degas' poised ballerinas. Hermione found, rather unfairly and ridiculously, she was jealous of the little girl. Victoire would never grow up and feel the sting of rejection from boys; she would never be made fun of for having frizzy hair, or large front teeth, or being awkward and brainy. She would always be pretty. But with a mother who was part Veela, and a father who was handsome in his own right, there was no way for the little girl to be anything other than stunning. Even her tiny baby sister had all the makings of a beautiful little girl.

" 'ave you zeen little Teddy?" Fleur said, wiping Victoire's nose with a clean linen handkerchief.

"No, how does he look?" Ginny asked affectionately, moving away from putting makeup on Hermione's face to see Fleur speak. Teddy was to be the ring bearer for the ceremony.

"_Très adorable_! Ee 'as on a petite bowtie, running around ze 'all in eez tiny dress robes. Ee's _grand-mère_ cannot zeem to control eem!"

"He is such a sweet child," Mrs. Weasley said smiling. "Is Bill helping to watch him, Fleur? Andromeda I'm sure could use some help."

" 'arry zaid zat ee waz going to watch 'im." Said Fleur.

"Well, at least we know Ron and Harry are here." Ginny muttered, returning to adding eye shadow on Hermione's eyelids.

"_Mémé_," Victoire said, tugging on Mrs. Weasley's dress, her toddler's speech slow and clumsy. "May I pway with Teddy? _Maman_ said no, cause of my dress."

"Your mum is right, sweetie," Mrs. Weasley said, petting the little girl on the head. "You look much too pretty in your dress to get it dirty. I'm sure the two of you will find all kinds of trouble to get into as you usually do."

"I won't!" Victoire protested. "I pwomise I won't!"

"_Victoire! Cella esta assez!_" Fleur said sternly. "_Ne pas faire me dire votre père!"_

"_Maman_!" Victoire said, stamping a foot in frustration, her full lips pouting.

"Fleur, I can watch her and Teddy, you know, give Harry a bit of a break," Mrs. Weasley said cajolingly. She gave into practically anything her grandchildren wanted, especially to little Victoire with her big pouting pink lips. But her mother insisted the little girl stay put and not to wrinkle her beautiful dress. Hermione did not seem to care one way or another.

A few other people came bustling in and out of the room, gushing over the dress, or the way Ginny had done her hair, or the way the hall had been decorated. Hermione seemed immune to it all. Immune to the picture taking, gossiping, pinching and prodding, even Dominique crying did not stir her attention away from the turmoil going on inside her brain. She was feeling something, something akin to anger. This was supposed to be her wedding day, the most anticipated, most celebrated, most joyous occasion of her life. Yet she sat on her chair, straight back and stiff, starring straight ahead, her back turned away from the large full-length mirror. Ginny could have painted her as a clown and she would have been oblivious to it. Her thoughts were turning back to what Ginny had said to her earlier. _"If you're having serious enough doubts, then we should call off the wedding." _

Hermione was not use to self-doubt, was not use to the way her mind was constantly bombarding her with different scenarios and ideas and opinions. Never had she been so unsure of anything in her entire life.

Finally it was time for Hermione and Ginny to change into their dresses. Ginny, naturally, was to be Hermione's maid of honor in a silk dress of palest lavender. She shooed the other women from the room, as it would be soon enough they would all need to be taking their seats. Ginny helped Hermione into her long, flowing gown of white lace and silk, magically doing up the satin buttons in that ran the length of her back. It wasn't until Ginny placed the long lace veil on top of her head did Hermione realize that she was to be married. The thought was frightening.

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny said gasping, fully taking in the image of her friend in her marital white. "You look so beautiful."

Hermione turned at last to the mirror to see her reflection. She was startled, shaken by the woman she saw standing in her place. She did not recognize herself, did not recognize the beautiful woman starring back at her. Her brown hair had been tamed into beautiful ringlet curls, pulled away from her face, that were masked only by the thin delicate lace material of her veil. Her body was perfectly silhouetted by the heart shaped neckline, the silk top of the dress like a second skin, giving her a sensual hourglass figure as the material flared from her hips in a full skirt of tulle and lace and silk, cascades of fabric that seemed to flow like water. Ginny had done her makeup so that it complimented her natural, classic beauty, with only subtle highlights and rouge. Her cinnamon eyes popped against the cool cream color of her skin, her lashes long and dark. She reached a hand up to her face to push a stray curl away from her face, the woman in the mirror copying her movements in perfect symmetry. She could have been standing there for an eternity, simply starring, marveling, reveling in the fact that she as at last, felt beautiful.

There was a small knock on the door. "You ladies decent?"

_Harry_.

His voice brought her around, suddenly aware of the tears on her checks, aware of how stifling hot the room was, how hard the rain was falling outside against the windowpane.

"Yeah, we're decent," Ginny said, still admiring her friend, except now with a mixture of concern and pity.

Harry came striding into the room walking over Ginny grinning. "Merlin above us, darling, you look gorgeous." He said, his eyes scanning his wife. Hermione looked over at him, still standing next to Ginny, an arm wrapped around her waist, giving her a kiss on her cheek making a dramatic smacking sound.

"It's not me you should be admiring," Ginny said smiling up at her husband, "but the darling bride."

Harry moved his green eyes, those startling, magnificent green eyes to Hermione. The shock at seeing her was evident on his face but he recovered quickly. "Hermione... I don't know what Ron is going to do when he sees you. It's a good thing Andromeda is here, we might just need a Healer as his heart will stop."

"You hear that, Hermione. Harry Potter, the romantic," Ginny said laughing.

Hermione smiled. "Those certainly aren't the characteristic we see plastered on the headlines of the _Prophet_," she said teasingly.

"Now, now, now, ladies," Harry said looking melodramatically affronted. "Just because I've become a hardened battle worn Auror, doesn't mean my heart is made of stone."

"No, it certainly does not." Ginny said, lovingly looking at her husband, leaning in to kiss his lips. Hermione turned away. She didn't want to see their love and affection for one another so evidently flaunted before her. Not now. Not when she had almost been convincing herself that Ron was not the man she should have ended up with.

"Darling, you wouldn't mind giving Mione and I just a moment alone? Just want to give the old girl a little pep talk, as she had the courtesy of giving me before we were married."

"Sure, but don't be too long. The ceremony is supposed to start soon." Ginny said, gathering up the bouquets of flowers and leaving the two of them alone.

"So you're here to tell me about ups and downs of marriage, are you? And who appointed you the expert Potter?" Hermione said jokingly, in a soft rustling of lace and silk and taffeta, walked past him to the table where her white shoes were waiting for her.

"Hermione," Harry said, his tone no longer held that quality of exuberant humor but one of a quiet anguish.

"I feel like you've come here in the place of my father," she continued, still with that manner of false humor, "are you about to tell me all the wicked wiles of men, and that I need to look out for the great trouser snake on my wedding night?"

"Hermione," Harry said, putting a warm hand against her bare shoulder making her turn around sharply. The feel of his hand against her flesh sent electrical waves of energy through her body, making her heart flutter rapidly. _Stupid_, she thought, mentally kicking herself for feeling like this. _You're being a stupid girl, Hermione, grow up_. "How are you?" he said, facing her, staring at her unblinkingly in her eyes.

"I'm fine," she said, waving a hand of the inconsequence of it, "perfectly fine." She turned around again to put on her shoes.

"You can be honest with me, you know," Harry said.

"And I am being honest, so there's no need to worry about me, Mr. Potter. I would have thought Auror training would have taught you to distinguish between lies and truth."

"And so they have, and I see the terror in your eyes and the truth in your heart that you don't want this."

Hermione turned around, her face frowning, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I'm fine," she repeated firmly. "I love Ron."

"Do you?" he asked quickly, sounding fierce and stubborn.

"Yes, I do," she said, squaring off with him, the anger she had been feeling earlier seeming to make her prone to row with him.

"Hermione, you and Ron are my best friends, and I should be, more than anyone, beyond happy that you are marrying each other. But I can't help but feel some dreadful hesitation to this whole affair. I can see the struggle you've had with each other in your relationship. I've heard you crying to Ginny about his careless nature, or the way he can be rather insensitive and cruel. I've had him tell me about the rows you two have and how impossible _you_ are, and how you care more about your work than him. And I can see now, minutes before you are to walk down the aisle, you are having doubts."

"Yes, I'm having doubts, of course I am!" Hermione said, the volume in her voice rising. Why did he have to do this _now_? She sighed, lowering her voice should someone hear them arguing and come to investigate. "It's only naturally to have doubts on your wedding day. Statistically speaking, the majority of women have a great many doubts on their wedding day. And logically it's due, no doubt, to the fact that it's a big step, pledging your life and your love to one person for the rest of your life. Of course I'm having my doubts, just as you did not that long ago. But, Harry, I'm about to be married," she said impatiently, "Why are you bringing this up now?"

"Because I don't want you to look back in a month, a year, or ten and see the mistake you made in marrying him." He grabbed her hands into his, holding them tightly. "I don't want to see you hurt, Mione."

"He's your best friend Harry, and he's mine as well." She said quietly, looking down at their intertwined hands. "I know I won't regret marrying him. I love him," she said simply, looking into those green eyes, "just as you love Ginny."

Harry let go of her hands, blinking, thinking hard as he took a few steps away from her. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair. "I love my wife," he said finally, as though he was convincing himself as well as her.

"As I love Ron," she said, almost in defiance.

"Then why don't I believe you?" He said, looking sadly at her. Those green eyes could always see through her.

"Harry," she said looking away from those eyes, and saw once again the reflection of a beautiful woman in a beautiful white dress. Only know the woman looked pained, anguished, tired and defeated.

"Do you still love me?" he asked her quietly, the words barely moving past his lips.

"I love you, Harry," Hermione said, but her heart was protesting as she added, "but as a brother. A friend. Like always."

Harry looked down at his feet before looking back up at her. "Liar."

**Early November, 1997**

"Hermione, would you mind taking over my shift a little early, I'm dead-"

He stopped midsentence, the flap on the tent door barely moved past entrance as she gasped and shouted "Harry!" She was changing out of her flannel pajamas and into her jeans and warm wool jumper. But she had only gotten as far as putting on her jeans. She turned away from the entrance, her arms safely hiding her bare breasts, her long curly brown hair feeling soft as it brushed against her bare back. In truth it had been a miracle they had not stumbled in on one another sooner, a miracle that there was still so much modesty between them as they had been sharing the same small tent for months.

"Sorry," he said apologetically. She waited for the sounds of his footsteps to disappear before she dared to move to try and retrieve her bra and jumper. But no such sound came.

Thinking perhaps the fallen leaves on the ground had softened the sound, she turned her head around to see if he had left. "Harry," she said, surprised to see him still standing exactly where he was before, still half inside the tent, the early morning sky illuminated behind him. "Go away, Potter," she said, a nervous giggle caught in her throat, her cheeks warm from blushing, "I need to finish changing."

"Sorry," he repeated, his voice hoarse with something other than exhaustion. But him seemed frozen where he stood, unable to move, as though he had been magically stunned.

"Harry," she said, averting her gaze to the ground, still embarrassed he could be standing there watching her in such a way.

"You're… you're very pretty Hermione," he said quietly. She finally heard the sounds of footsteps moving, but they were coming towards her, not away.

"H-harry, I think you should go," Hermione said still looking at the ground, but something in her body was aching for him to come closer, to hold her, to touch her. She had never felt such a painful longing before, scared by its veracity. "I want you to leave."

"Liar," he said.

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><p>an: if you'd like to read more, please read and review! i appreciate anything and everything that you might want to say.


	3. Promises

a/n: the Harry Potter universe is the property of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infridgement is intended. T rating for language and adult situations. This has been turning out to be a really fun fic to write, so I really hope you **enjoy** it as well!

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><p><strong>Late December, 1997<strong>

The bitter winds made the already cold night air even crisper in its sting on her face. She wrapped herself a little tighter in his jacket, taking in his scent, smiling at the thought of him returning back to her, their bodies together creating the warmth they would both need on such a cold winter's night. Hermione began looking around as though someone was watching her, as though strangers were sitting in judgment as her thoughts turned to a more intimate nature. She began to feel the deep longing inside of her, her body having become so wanton from his touch that it seemingly ached until they could be together again. Her smile faded, however, thinking back to yesterday and the horror they encountered in Godric's Hallow. In their fright from narrowly escaping the giant snake, and the panic of certain death, their bodies sang with adrenaline making their coupling that night even more frenzied and intense.

She looked down at her watch, and noticing how long he had been gone, panic began to set in and the worry in the pit of her stomach making her nauseous.

She knew something had been wrong after she had called out to him earlier, knew that his fury in her breaking his wand evident from the way he wanted to be the first on guard when they had finished setting up camp. She knew, too, that he would continue to be cross with her, but there was nothing more Hermione could do. She had apologized as much as she could, but there was no fixing the damage that had been done. She turned back inside, the cold getting the better of her, the warmth of the tent immediate; however, it was not this physical warmth she was necessarily seeking. She tried to settle her racing mind and keep her panic at bay, but she simply paced back and forth, worried about what might have happened to him. Finally, relief washing over her, she heard his familiar footsteps coming toward the tent through the dense forest.

"There you are, I was beginning to get worried-" But she never completed her thought. It was then she saw Harry was not alone. There was Ron, soaking wet, his cheeks pink with cold and exhaustion, his smile sheepish as he looked down at her.

Hurt and rage as Hermione had never known consumed her entire being, seeing Ron, alive and well, after his abandoning them all those weeks ago, saying nothing more upon his return than a simple "Hiya". But it was more than that. With the return of Ron meant the destruction of all she had built up inside her, bringing back all the confusion and doubt that had plagued her. It was the realization that she could no longer be intimate with Harry, no longer could she explore all of her longings and urges and newfound feelings.

It was the moment she knew she could not fall in love with Harry Potter.

**May, 2003**

"What do you want me to say? That after all this time I'm still in love with you? Because I hate to disappoint you, Potter, but I'm not going to say it because it's not the truth."

"I don't know what you're going to say, or what you want to say, Hermione," he said slowly, deliberately. "All I know is that I'm trying to save you."

"Save me from _what_ exactly? You know, where do you get off telling me I need saving? And why are you doing this _now_? Why, right before I'm supposed to walk down the aisle, why do you have to go drudging up the past? I thought we both agreed last year that we weren't going to talk about it."

"No, we agreed not to tell Ginny and Ron, but Mione, I've been _wanting_ to talk about it."

"Harry," she said, turning away from him to stare out, finally seeing the heavy sheets of rain falling hard against the windowpane. She didn't need this from him, not today, not on her wedding day. If he had such strong objections, where were they months, weeks, even _days_ ago? Did he really just expect her to break down and confess? And confess, _what_, exactly? Sure, there was a small part of her that had always wondered, and yes, there would always be a part of her that wanted him in _that_ way. But was she going to run away with him, when all of their family and friends were gathered, when Ron was patiently waiting for her?

And then there was Ron, poor Ron, who had done nothing wrong. Was she really willing to sacrifice his happiness just to fulfill some girlhood fantasy she was holding onto?

"I know you don't want to believe me, I know you think I'm being immature and selfish, but Mione, I just need you to tell me, is there hope?"

What was she supposed to say to this? Hope? Hope for _what_? For infidelity and lies and secrets?

"'I must not tell lies'," she said quietly, indicating the scarred outline of those words on his hand, brutally enforced during their fifth year at Hogwarts.

"You're worried about Ginny?"

"Among other things!" Hermione said, her temper rising. It took a lot for her to become this agitated, but with the impending wedding, her nerves were already so frayed it did not take much to completely unravel them. "Potter, I'm going out there and getting married to a man who loves me."

"And you love him?"

"Yes, I do." She said, almost in defiance to the complete uncertainty she was feeling.

"And you really see yourself being happy with him, even five years down the road? Or what about five months, or five weeks? Because honestly, I don't think you will, Hermione."

"So what, so we're just going to run away together, is that your master plan? You really would be able to leave Ginny, and have all of our friends turn on us for our deceit?"

Harry didn't say anything but continued to stare at her.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" She said with a snort of derision.

"Yes," he said quietly, but firmly, "I would leave Ginny if it meant I knew you were happy."

Hermione was momentarily stunned. This was not the answer she was expecting. "I-" she began, but couldn't think of the right words to say, so she closed her mouth resolutely, waiting for him to say something. But neither one did. They just stood there, trying to interpret from the immovable silence what the other was thinking.

"We were kids, Harry," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, as a rumble of thunder growled from miles away. "We didn't know what we were doing or what it would mean."

"I knew what I was doing," Harry said, looking down at his feet. "I knew what I wanted, and I went after it."

"You had just broken it off with Ginny, if I remember correctly, and Ron had just left and we were both lonely and vulnerable."

"You know it was so much more than that," Harry said, looking up, his green eyes flashing dangerously, and Hermione was overtaken by something very powerful deep within her. "Besides, it was more than just that time when we were kids."

"We said that wouldn't count," Hermione interjected. "We were drunk, and just being foolish. Besides, we knew it was wrong."

"Then why did it feel so right?"

"Harry Potter, that has to be the most clichéd thing I have ever heard you say." Hermione said, starting to laugh.

Harry gave a weak sort of laugh, a sheepish grin, shrugging. "Yeah, that did sound pretty dumb… but you know what I meant."

"Harry, answer me this, if you had all these feelings, why did you go back to Ginny when the war was over?"

"I don't know," Harry said, running a hand through his jet-black hair. "I thought that was what I was _suppose_ to do. I mean, you and Ron seemed to just fall back into each other's arms, I thought, well, this was the way it's supposed to be; you and Ron, me and Ginny."

"We were at war, Harry, we didn't know if we were going to live or die, and Ron, well," Hermione said, feeling herself start to blush. "To be honest, I didn't think he was going to survive, and I kept thinking, 'if these are his last moments, I should make them special.' And then when he did live, I suppose it was just, well… convenience. But, we weren't together that entire year I went back to Hogwarts. And we didn't just fall back into bed. We took time apart from one another, made sure that it wasn't just the war that was throwing us together. You and Ginny, on the other hand, just seemed to plow ahead with your relationship as though nothing had changed. But, Harry-" she said, holding up a hand to silence his retaliation, "Ginny is one of my best friends. Even if I was madly in love with you -and I'm not saying I am- I could never do that to her. So, if you don't mind, I need to get married today."

"Hermione-"

"No, Harry, I'm standing firm on this. I have always been the sensible one out of the three of us, and so I'm going to continue to be rational in saying, this must be some reaction to wedding day jitters. I know tomorrow I won't be feeling this way."

"Will you?"

"Yes, I will," Hermione said rebelliously, but Harry just continue to stare at her, his gaze so direct, so piercing with his green eyes, that Hermione began to feel the desire stir within her, and the tension between them mounting ever greater. Harry looked at her as though to ask a question, and Hermione knew what he wanted to do. How many times had she seen that look? How many times had she seen the adorable manner in which he would silently ask for permission to kiss her? He took a step or two forward, and Hermione, unconsciously, her body acting against the screaming protests of her rational mind, closed her eyes in anticipation of his lips. She could feel his body coming ever closer to her own, could breathe in his scent, could feel his warmth so close to her face, and she almost reached out to touch him.

"Hermione," he said breathlessly.

"What's the hold up you two?" said a voice from far away. Instantly, Hermione's eyes snapped open, backing away from Harry as though she had been electrically shocked. She saw Ginny standing in the doorframe, looking at both of them with impatience and slight apprehension. The air in the room was heady, still charged with longing, and it did not take someone stumbling in to know what had been going on between them.

"S-sorry, Ginny," Hermione stammered, walking back over to the mirror to straighten her veil, "won't be but a moment."

"Harry, you should go stand with Ron, we're about to start." Ginny said, and Hermione noted the slight hurt in her voice.

"Of course, I'll see you girls out there." Harry said hoarsely making to leave the room. Hermione watched from the mirror as he left, only glancing back once towards Hermione, before leaving to take his place by the altar.

"Ready?" Hermione said, her voice with such forced cheerfulness that she knew Ginny could see right through it.

"Ready," Ginny said apprehensively and both women made there way to the back of the hall. "Listen, Hermione, if this isn't-" Ginny began but Hermione simply brushed past her, resolute in her decision that it was Ron she was to marry. She didn't need to hear anyone else tell her it wasn't too late to back out, because if they had, she might have seriously considered it.

The ceremony was over before Hermione knew what was happening. Seeing Ron standing at the altar, seeing the look of awe and happiness wash over his face as Hermione slowly made her way toward him, made her marriage seem destined, part of some bigger plan. She could not see Harry looking forlorn standing behind him, could not see the vacillation in Ginny, all she could see was Ron and how this was the way it was supposed to be. Hearing his vows, hearing his earnest, clumsy declarations of love, Hermione knew that he would keep his promise to always love, honor, and cherish. She knew he would treat her well, treat her with the love and respect she deserved. By the time the Master of Ceremonies had announced, "You may kiss the bride", Hermione had forgotten all about the dream, forgotten the way her heart would flutter madly at Harry's touch, forgotten she had ever been in love with anyone other than the man who was now her husband.

_It's all been foolish_, she told herself, her cheeks starting to hurt from all the smiling from the dozens of photos being taken, _foolish that something that had happened between two teenagers alone in the woods, moving blindly through remote areas of Europe and Great Britain, should have ever developed into something more than just a few moments of passion_. In fact, she was surprised it hadn't happened sooner between them. Thinking back on it, it was natural, expected even, that having an eighteen-year-old girl and a seventeen-year-old boy who were best friends, who trusted the other so implicitly, would engage in matters of a more sexual nature. So she put the matter out of her mind, drove it away from her thoughts so she could enjoy the night, enjoy the music and the excellent food, and the company, and Ron's sloppy but tender kisses.

But there was a stubborn pain in her heart that would not leave her, a feeling of lingering finality, as though someone had died. Her rational mind attributed this feeling to the death of her single life, that she would no longer be Hermione Granger. And apart from this lingering feeling of sorrow, she was having a marvelous time. At least, that's what she told herself.

Harry, it seemed, had forgotten about their almost-kiss, had forgotten he had ever said he would leave his current life to run away with her, as he laughed and joked during his toast that someone had clearly confounded Ron, as he could not stop looking so astonished at his good fortune for marrying someone so beautiful.

"And she is!" he said, over the laughter of the crowd. "She looks very beautiful tonight..." Hermione noted the faltering in his voice, but she ignored it, fought hard to think it was nothing more than Harry being ill prepared for his best man's speech. "Now, Hermione has been my best friend since our first year at Hogwarts. And it all came to pass because Ron and I foolishly went storming after her with a mountain troll on the loose one Halloween night."

**October, 1991**

Panting, out of breath, Hermione looked to the boys who had just saved her life. The one, the redhead, was the reason she had been in the girl's lavatory all night crying because of his unkind words about her hair and her teeth so his presence here was unexpected to be sure. But the other, the quiet one whom everyone fussed over, was surveying the damage while quietly making sure she was all right. She had read about him in the countless books she had purchased over the summer after finding out she was a witch, had read that he was the only person ever to survive the Killing Curse, to defeat the Dark Lord, but never did she think he would come to rescue her, to save her, to be her hero. The boy with his too large glasses and untidy black hair looked down at the mountain troll they had just knocked out before looking back up at her. It was then, in that piercing green gaze, Hermione knew she wanted to know more about this boy. She knew that this was a boy that she could trust, not only with her life, but with her soul and entire being. And at age eleven, she did not fully realize what such faith and trust meant; all she knew was that they would forever be tied together, whether he wanted her or not.

**May, 2003**

"Ron moaned and complained about leaving against the order of returning to the common room, but I insisted. And just think, Ron, if we hadn't disobeyed the rules, you might not have such a beautiful wife sitting next to you." A few more appreciative chuckles from the older parents and Hogwarts staff who had joined them. "I could not be happier that my two best friends have, _finally_," a few more chuckles, "tied the knot. Cheers!"

After the cake had been cut, and the food had been digested, Ron and Hermione shared their first dance. Taking his hand, feeling the other on her waist, she smiled brightly at him.

"Happy?" he asked, and Hermione could hear the nervous tremble in his voice.

"Ecstatic," Hermione said, tilting her head up so he could lean in to kiss her lips.

"Everything to your liking?"

"Everything," Hermione said, looking around at the splendor of the room. She wasn't even disappointed the reception couldn't be held outside. Mrs. Weasley had worked magic even Hermione in her brilliance could never accomplish. "And you? Are you happy?"

"Very," Ron said smiling proudly. He clearly was chuffed to bits about his new wife.

More couples joined them on the dance floor, swaying along to the soulful tune. Hermione watch even as little Teddy Lupin, looking adorable in his small set of dress robes, lead Victoire Weasley to dance, cameras snapping madly as they awkwardly tried to mimic the older couples movements. Victoire, her small chubby legs, unable to keep up with Teddy who was taller, tripped awkwardly and fell. She started crying at having fallen, but Teddy, in a moment that caused Hermione's heart to break for seeing another flash of Remus in the boy, used the clean sleeve of his fine dress robes to awkwardly wipe her tears away. Victoire didn't know how to respond, her lip still trembling as though she may simply start to cry again. Bill Weasley intervened and scooped up his daughter, causing her smile from being lifted up into her father's arms. Teddy, watching the little girl leave with her father, looked pained for a moment, finding himself very much alone on the dance floor.

Hermione broke away from Ron, moving toward the boy, finding herself overcome with grief as Teddy started making the connection that should he fall, his parents would not be there to dry his tears and comfort him.

"Come on, you," Ginny said, happily stepping in when seeing what Hermione saw, hoisting Teddy into her arms. "A gentleman should always have a dance partner."

"I helped Torie, Ginny," Teddy said seriously, looking with his father's eyes at the woman he had come to see as an aunt. "She was sad and I tried to help."

"I know, you were being very kind to help Torie like that." Ginny said with equal manner of seriousness.

"Would mummy and daddy be proud of me?" Teddy asked, looking down at Ginny's dress, suddenly interested in feeling the soft silky fabric with his chubby fingers.

"Very proud, sweetheart," Ginny said, holding the boy a little tighter. She looked over to Hermione, eyes wide with pity, and Hermione could feel tears prickling the corners of her eyes. It was that little boy, with his earnest drive in making his mother and father proud, a mum and dad he would never know, would never have a single memory of, that drove her, carried her on in her work toward creating a truly equal Ministry. Being the son of a known werewolf, Teddy could be scorned at, seen as the product of a freak, made to be an outsider. Even being a metamorphmagus could make others turn away from him, made him to be seen as something unnatural, shifty and untrustworthy. Hermione was constantly striving towards removing the stereotypes, of breaking down the barriers in bigoted minds so people could see goblins and house elves and even werewolves as deserving of the same respect as any other witch or wizard. It was what made her so angry when she and Ron would row about her staying so late at the office, of being so focused on her work instead of meeting him for drinks, or having an evening alone together that didn't involve goblins' rights. How could he not understand, looking at the boy dancing with his sister, that she did it for Teddy, and for children like him, for Remus and all those who had suffered against the cruelty of restrictions against them?

After such a touching display of Teddy's gentle nature, he was in no short supply of dance partners for the rest of the evening.

By the time the next slow song came around, Hermione was feeling tired, and kissed her husband's cheek as she went to sit down with him, drinking an entire glass of champagne, the bubbles making her feel lightheaded and a little tipsy.

"Mrs. Weasley, might I have one last dance?" Harry said, voice low, his hand held out. Hermione didn't immediately register he was speaking to her, and instead thought he was talking about Ron's mother. But she looked from the outstretched hand and then back at Ron, almost wishing him to protest, but he just shrugged and said, "Don't look at me, you're the one who would have to dance with him and his two left feet."

"Sure," she said, a hesitant smile on her lips. She took his outstretched hand as he led her out onto the dance floor.

"Having fun?" He said, holding her as close as he dared with everyone watching.

"I am," Hermione said truthfully.

"You look very beautiful tonight," he said, leaning in even closer to whisper in her ear, and Hermione could feel his warm breath and smell the champagne. He clearly had had one glass too many. "I haven't been able to take my eyes off you all evening."

"You say anything more like that, Potter, and I'll make a scene," Hermione said threateningly, but inside, her heart was beginning to race, butterflies flapping madly in the pit of her stomach. Why did he have such an effect on her? Especially after she had completely resolved herself to being Ron's wife, to being "Mrs. Hermione Weasley".

"Alright, alright, I won't say another word, but I speak the truth," Harry said, backing away a little more so they were now at the proper distance social norms allowed for a couple to dance who were not intimate with one another.

"Why does Ginny look so peeved?" Hermione said, noticing her friend sitting at the table, drinking a whole glass of champagne in one gulp and looking like she wanted nothing more than to leave.

"Why do you think?" Harry said, and Hermione felt herself pale, the blood draining away from her face.

"Does she know?" Hermione said quietly, still continuing to stare at her friend.

"No, at least, not everything. But she told me earlier that we were to have 'a chat' when we got back to ours."

"What's that supposed to mean? Do you think she saw us earlier?"

"I think blind men would have seen us earlier."

"I mean, we didn't do anything wrong," Hermione said lamely. She knew what she had wanted to do in that moment and it was no wonder Ginny looked so miserable. "I should talk to her before you both leave. She didn't know what she was walking in on, and she probably got the wrong impression."

"I think for someone as bright and brilliant as you are, Hermione, you're being quite thick." Harry said with a laugh.

"Do you like watching your wife suffer, is that it?" Hermione asked with narrowed eyes.

"My wife," Harry said, looking over to Ginny, who was helping herself to another glass of champagne, feigning laughter with George and Angelina. "All she does is nag me about feelings, and how we never communicate. It's not so easy, talking to her, she's so quick to judge. She's not like you; she doesn't have your instinctive patience with me."

"Have you tried telling her this? Telling her how you feel?" Hermione asked, but she already knew the answer. Hadn't Ginny, just this morning, told her how secretive Harry could be, especially when it came to the murky waters of emotions?

"No, I'm finding it a bit difficult to find the right words," Harry said and Hermione could feel him sink a little in his posture, his body physically expressing what he could not. She almost felt sorry for him in way, because he clearly was not as happy as everyone seemed to think he was.

Harry had always been good at hiding his true feelings, and instead, put forth this image of a man who was happy, settled, and free from the horrors his life had been littered with. Hermione knew that there was no way one person, even 'The Chosen One', was able to cope so well with such a gruesome past, and all the death the Second Great War had brought upon them. For a while, Hermione had suffered from horrible panic attacks, bouts of depression and mourning, seemingly set off by even the smallest of happenstances. She never properly grieved after the war was won, but instead, plunged herself into her schoolwork and the desire of achieving Outstandings in her NEWTs. Ginny had once confessed that Harry suffered from horrible night terrors, that he would barely recognize who or where he was, that he even tried to attack Ginny in his sleep.

The song ended, and the couples around them slowly stopped their swaying, as did Harry and Hermione. There was a swell of chatter as the band began to play a more upbeat tempo and more people gathered to dance raucously. But Harry refused to let go of her hand. She tried to move away, but his grip only would tighten the more she continued to fight him.

"Harry," she said, her voice low and dangerous, people around them starting to stare at the stationary figures so out of place on the dance floor.

"Of course, _Mrs. Weasley_, don't let me keep you," he said, but his words were like poison, infecting Hermione's heart with thoughts of disgust in hearing herself being called "Mrs. Weasley". He very slowly relaxed his hand, but this time it was Hermione who refused to let go.

"You promised," Hermione said quietly, looking down at their interlaced fingers.

**Early December, 1997**

"I never realized how tiny your hands are," he said, starring down at their intertwined fingers, playing against one another as he held her on the small cot they had taken to sharing. The winds were roaring outside the tent, the temperature had plummeted suddenly, yet, lying in his arms, their bodies barely clothed, she had never felt more safe and warm.

"I've always had delicate hands, it's made me more agile in charms," she said, flattening her palm against his own to measure the difference between the two. His very easily overtook her own as he brought them up to his lips, kissing each fingertip, and Hermione let out the softest of moans, closing her eyes, as the pads made contact with the rough feel of his lips. Never before had anyone kissed her so delicately, so tenderly, with so much love. "I want you to promise me something, Harry." She said, opening her eyes as Harry's began to close his, sleep heavy on his eyelids.

"Depends on the promise." He said with his eyes still shut tight.

"Promise me, that no matter what, you will always be there to hold my hand."

"That's a rather odd thing to promise," Harry said, opening his eyes to stare into hers questioningly, his teenage sensibilities not quite comprehending what Hermione's more mature mind was alluding to. "We don't know the outcome of all of this, Mione, for all we know we could-"

"Just promise me," Hermione said, bringing her hand to stop his mouth. "No matter what might happen, in the end, I want to be the one holding your hand."

Harry searched her eyes for the briefest of moments before it dawned on him she did not mean the physical act of holding her hand, but that he would support her, be there for her, not just as a friend, but as a lover and companion, that he would continue to kiss each delicate fingertip. Removing her hand from his mouth by kissing its palm, he held tight to it, giving it a slight squeeze. He brushed a wild strand of curly hair away from her face, before delicately outlining her jaw with his index finger, before cupping the side of her face. Leaning as his lips made for hers, he whispered, "I promise."

* * *

><p>an: So now that she is a married woman, and with a seemingly doting husband, will Hermione continue to lust after the man she can never have, or will she take some drastic measures to rekindle the initial spark they had so many years ago? You will simply have to wait and see!

I am trying to be as delicate as I can in the matters of marital infidelity while keeping characters we all have grown to love so much within the realm of possibility, because I'm trying to stay inside canon, but also honoring their secret desires. I mean, please, if Harry Potter had rescue me from a grown mountain troll, I'd be in love with him, even at age 11.

Thank YOU so much for the response to this story! I cannot tell you how excited I get to see that someone has commented on my work and it makes me write that much quicker to get chapters out! This really is quickly becoming a story even I am curious to see where it takes Harry and Hermione next. All I know is that the two were meant for each other. So, let me know what you think!


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